Don't fly away
by UnknwnParadise
Summary: There is a thin line between love and hate, especially for a man who knows about neither. What shall the expression 'the calm before the storm' mean to Sherlock and what will Luna do when she will find out that she is in love with the man she is supposed to despise? ( OC/Sherlock; rated M for further chapters. )
1. Chapter 1 : Don't fly Away

"_Oh, but darling… this world is a cruel, cruel place. That's what makes it _**beautiful**_."_

She remember him telling this to her when they were all alone in her apartment. His lips barely quivered when he spoke, and his icy blue eyes were fixed on hers, sending heated shivers up her spine. He was the man she was supposed to hate, because her sister told her so, but the way he gazed at her made her unable to breathe. And still, she wanted to hold him, tell him how wrong he was in that little world of his where everything was scientifically proven. But she couldn't move. She felt like crying. She felt like slapping him for no apparent reason—but God… his smirk was reason enough, for her heart was beating at a maddening speed.

* * *

Luna was the splitting image of her twin sister, but, unlike Irene, she had blonde hair. That was the only thing, people said, that made her different from the bigger sibling of the family. But that was not true. While Irene was addicted to power, Luna was much quieter and calculated, although just as smart. They had always been together, ever since birth and Irene protected her little sister with all she had. That was one of the many motives the blonde loved Irene so much, and when she heard that she needed help in order to get revenge, she gladly accepted, because she knew that Irene never made her do things when not utterly needed—although she could have had more than enough times.

Thusly now, eight months later after Irene Adler's disappearance, Luna got to see the great Sherlock Holmes, confused in the door frame. She was just having tea and chattering the usual stuff with John, like the weather and how had their day been (Luna being perfectly content and cheerful, while the good old doctor seemed to be blushing and stuttering) when the consulting detective entered 221 B Backer Street, sheet of paper in hand and his precious skull in the other. In that instant, he froze.

Something was not right, John hated Irene, and now she was… blonde? No, no, no, it could not possibly be true… Rushing towards the two, he caught her wrist, which was moving to wipe away some crumbles of bread from his best friend's shirt, before the doctor could tell Sherlock that he was making a mistake. A huge one, even, which would most likely bring along embarrassment on the man's side.

"What are you doing here?" He nearly hissed, earning a stare from both people in the room, which confused him all the more. "And what's with the sudden change of hair colour?"

"Ah, Mister Holmes." Was the phrase _(or was it a phrase, anyway?)_ with which the freshly returned woman started, her eyes twinkling with some kind of mischief and intelligence he never saw before in those orbs of sky blue. Truth to be told, she was amused by the whole situation, and John was as well. "My sister told me that you would be able to see that I am not here from the very first fifteen seconds; I suppose Irene was more than wrong."

Her statement made him let go of her and take a step back, his eyes wide as if he had just seen a ghost. Sister? Irene Adler—The Woman—had a sister? But that was impossible, he should have known until— Ah…. Stupid, _stupid_, how could he be this stupid? It was _her_ who he was talking about (actually, thinking, but the auto-correction did not do him any good but anger him further), so it was only obviously normal for him to know nothing about her family-slash-friends.

"My name is Luna, by the way. I suppose you were going to ask once your mouth closed, or maybe you forgot even to do that, mister detective? Such lack of manners…" The girl said that with so much nonchalance that Sherlock was practically ripped away from his mind space and forced to take another look at her. Blonde ringlets of hair framed her almost innocent-looking face, while her eyes gave her an angelic tent, was her mouth not so utterly red to give away the fact that the woman was, perhaps, just as powerful with men as her sister was, just using different ways. Much to his relief, she was not wearing the 'battle dress' Irene had worn upon their first meeting, but a pair of deep blue jeans along with a pretty white shirt, ruffles at the buttons and at the sleeves. Even so, her attire and behaviour did not give away much about herself (beside the fact that she was slightly different than her sister, much more composed, it seemed) as it had happened to her sibling.

"Oh, I am merely tired from work, I assure you, Miss Adler. Although I cannot possibly comprehend what in the world are you doing—"

"Sherlock, behave!" His friend brutally interrupted him, and then turned towards the pale female, who only barely managed stifling a chuckle, "Excuse him, Luna, but he is really bad at socializing."

* * *

The second time he saw Luna, they were all alone in _his_ flat on Baker Street (Mrs Hudson decided to give her the spare apartment, after she learned about how her family had practically kicked her out—a obvious lie), and she was reaching for a box of sweets John had put up because of the girl. Apparently, she had a sweet tooth and, quoting John, 'she could go on living on sweets alone'. Now, teeth sunk into the flesh of her full bottom lip and brows furrowed together just slightly, she was on her toes, concentrating on the sole object that she did not even see Sherlock leaned against the door of the kitchen, arms crossed and a bemused expression on his handsome features.

"You look like a petulant child trying to get chocolate without permission, Miss Adler," he mused out loud, the tone of his voice soft but still, managing to get to cross the small distance between the two of them, and make her almost tumble backwards with a loud gasp.

"I, uhm…" she started, cheeks flushed. So, apparently, she was not going to split back an insult like Irene would, Sherlock noted. Interesting, very, very interesting. Instead, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, bottom lip still violently abused by her own pearly tusks. "Look, John took my cigarettes and wouldn't let me have even those… He is truly annoyingly protective for someone I have met just days ago."

She was trying to justify herself before the great detective, forgetting about the fact that she was actually here to seduce him, and then leave him, as terrible as it sounded even to herself; after all, she was not het sister, but she promised her to do so. Remembering that, a small smirk appeared on her pair of petals, although she remained looking ever so innocent; only that her gaze shifted from the floor to the one standing in front of her.

"Help me get them?" It was not a question he could say no to, merely because he knew that if he did, she would end up climbing on a chair and stupidly get herself hurt. So, with a sigh, he took a few steps towards her and reached for the box with much ease (he was at least forty centimetres taller than her) and dropped it into her waiting palms.

What followed could not be predicted by anyone at all. His mind barely had the time to think about some witty remark he could do regarding the event that the girl wrapped her arms around his neck and, much like she did when she tried to reach for the sweets, lifted herself on her toes to brush her lips against his, before twirling around and leaving the room, obviously satisfied with both prizes.

Sherlock only stared ahead, wide eyed and utterly confused.


	2. Chapter 2: The game is on!

She was gasping through her sleep, tossing and turning and crying. She was _remembering_, and that was the worse part of them all.

_ 'You're worthless' _

_'No one loves you'_

_ 'liar'_

_ 'You can't do anything right'_

_ 'You only live in the shadow of Irene'_

_ 'But even she hates you, doesn't she?'_

_ 'She just stays with you because there is no one but her to take care of you'_

_ 'You're a burden to her' _

_ 'You should simply __**disappear'**_

There were faceless shadows laughing at her, and reaching for her with their claw-like hands, wanting to tear the skin from her very bones and pull her into an abyss she knew nothing about. Only that it was dark, and humid, and bloody, and she wanted out, she wanted—

"**_Luna_**…"

The voice pierced through the laughter. It was the voice of a male, deep and rich and it made her dream self shudder and fight even more to get away from her imaginary captors. It was nice, to hear such a thing between the many daggers thrown at her, which she could feel, deep in her body. But the moment of bliss passed quickly, and she found herself drowning back in the sea of black and hate.

Just then, the sound of her name resounded once again, louder this time, strong hands shaking her carefully, and she found herself gasping for air, blue eyes wide and red from the crying, her fingers clenched into Sherlock's shirt. W-wait… _Sherlock_?

"It's okay, it was only a dream. Everything will be fine now." He uttered softly, stroking her hair, as she wept. Even so, once he realized that she was awake, his expression hardened, trying to regain his nonchalant composure but failing, evident in his eyes that he was slightly concerned about her; plus, his arms were tightly wrapped around her quivering form, in a way he remembered his mother did whenever he woke up in the middle of the night, shaking and crying, and later as Mycroft did, although for a much shorter period of time. At her inquiring glare, with which she silently asked him what the _hell_ was he doing inside _her_ apartment (which she remembered that she had locked), and therefore in her room, he felt obligated to explain it to her.

"Well, these walls are thin, and I heard you crying and sobbing, and I thought something was wrong. John in out with _Sarah_, so I could not send him up…" Sherlock trailed off, tucking a stray strand of golden hair behind her ear as he spoke. He spoke of that woman, Sarah, almost as if he was jealous, but then the realization hit the blonde angel and her train of thoughts got interrupted abruptly.

"You were worried." Luna came to the conclusion, her voice hoarse from sleep and from crying so much, her eyes still wide, but, this time, from surprise. Then, her expression melted into a triumphant smirk, which made Sherlock all the more annoyed about the situation. No, he could not let himself be deemed as _weak_ by this girl. After all, she was not in the position to judge him, seeing how he had practically held her through her small crisis.

"I was _trying_ to sleep, and you were making noises. You could have spared me of this little show, you know." He shouted the argument, suddenly letting her go and lifting his arms into the air, in a desperate attempt to prove his point.

"But you were holding me." She backfired, still softly, shifting around in her bed until she was leaning against the headboard. "And comforted me. If you would have been—"

"Oh, shut up, woman." The world's only consulting detective snarled, his brows furrowed together. "A 'thank you for keeping those damn nightmares away' would suffice, you know." The lasts statement was added in a quieter voice, one which seemed rather a mutter than a statement to keep the argument burning between the two of them.

Resigned, the blonde admitted defeat. After all, he had seen her in a state she did not want anyone to see her, and she _knew_ he would be using it against her—she simply knew. It was, after all, Sherlock Holmes who knew about her weakness. She sighed and leant over to place a gentle hand on his cheek, lifting his gaze towards her almost without touching him. She wasn't fond of apologizing, but she forced the words out, almost swiftly.

"I'm sorry. Thank you, Sherlock. It means a lot to me."

**_Sherlock_****.** When had she started calling him like that? It had always been 'Mister Holmes', or 'Mister Detective'. So what with the sudden change? Nevertheless, his name sounded oddly pleasant on her lips, and the way she touched him made him shudder with anticipation—no, he could not let his mind wander to such places; places he had locked deep inside his Mind Palace, because damn it, feelings were doing nothing but slowing down his work.

He just nodded once and slid himself out of her bed, getting out of the flat as quietly as he came. That only left a grinning Luna behind, her eyes glimmering with mischief. Soon, very, very soon he would succumb to her. And then, she will make him go through Hell. Everything was part of the plan, after all. Well, everything but the nightmare—at the memory of it, she winced and decided to go take a cold shower.

* * *

The following day had been a terrible one, especially for John, who was incredulous of what had just happened between the brainy pair. All that he knew was that they were throwing knives at each other through that glares and he himself could literally feel shivers whenever they snapped at each other, and even at him, whenever he tried to tell them something. It was useless.

"Okay, children, something is _terrifyingly_ wrong between you two, and you need to speak it up." He concluded, when the atmosphere turned out unbearable. God knew that even the good doctor's patience was running thin and he could not deal with _two_ pubescent kids not knowing what to do with their anger and hormones. After all, John was anything but stupid and, this time, saw something that the two of them did not.

"He's a dick." Luna said simply, draping her tired body on their sofa, her arms crossed over her chest, expression—unable to be read. That, and her statement, made the consulting detective not know whether he wanted to hit her, or kiss her, but he decided to do neither; throwing back a witty comment would work better.

"Mind your tongue, Miss Adler." Sherlock snapped at her, his eyes narrowing until they became two thin lines, brows furrowed together angrily, casually placing himself in his armchair, legs crossed one over the other. "And I am not the one who was trying to—"

"Sherlock!" John finally yelled, his icy cold gaze making his best friend stop in his tracks. "You have _been_, indeed, acting like a spoiled brat all day._ I_ don't know what's going on in that bloody head of yours, but Luna does not deserve such a treatment, especially from you, when she has done nothing but be calm and nice with you. Now, so God help me, but if you continue like this, I swear I am going to let you two kill each other."

He was actually defending her? Why, he could be rather useful in the following days, and the idea made Luna smile ever so subtly; yet the smile disappeared as soon as he felt grey eyes upon her. It was not time for sniggers and playful glances, for the doctor was boiling with rage and, seeing that he got no answer from either, let out an exasperated noise (somewhat between a grunt and a huff).

And with that, he was gone, stamping his feet down the stairs and mumbling to himself, leaving behind two very confused—and slightly amused—genii.

"I didn't know he had it in him," the woman finally broke the silence, both of them bursting into a fit of laughter. It seemed that their friend was living to the image of a former solder, although just with the two of them.

Luna gracefully lifted herself from where she was sitting spread and, in a few quick steps, reached the detective's chair. Her look was sultry as golden hair fell before her eyes, her arms casually draped at each side of her curvy, yet toned body. The sight alone made Sherlock gulp, knowing that there was a storm coming. Either way, he was ready.

"You know what I want to do to you this very moment, after you have been poking me with daggers all day and making me feel terrible?" She asked softly, to which Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. Last thing he needed was a bruise he needed to explain tomorrow to his stupid 'co-workers'.

But what followed was unexpected, and most pleasant. She straddled his waist, to which he, weirdly, could not react, and, cupping his face in her hands, planted her lips on his. It was not the chaste kiss from yesterday, no. It was filled with passion, affection (for she would never call in the 'l' word as she knew it was untrue) and hatred poured into it, and mixed together in a deliciously bitter-sweet feeling. Tongues danced, lips melted together, teeth bit here and there, and when they pulled back, they were both panting, and Sherlock was clearly stupefied. He had kissed girls before, merely being forced to dates by Mycroft, but this… well this, was something fat different.

"I don't know whether I want to slap that cheek or have you right here—making you beg for me sounds terribly thrilling, _Sherlock_." She was calm as she spoke, fact which only made him realize his theory was true—this girl was powerful, and her words could not be pushed away as he would usually do. But then again, the remark left his lips without him thinking too much.

"Oh, I don't beg. I would rather have you do so."

To that, the blonde only lifted an eyebrow, a smirk pulling the corners of her lips upwards. "Oh, we shall see."

* * *

**A/N: I decided to post chapters twice a week- I have yet to decide the days. **

**Oh, and by the way, reviews will get small previews from the next chapter, so stay tuned!**


End file.
